


would you just- (lie here with me)

by GodOfGlitter



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: 3 + 1, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Drunkenness, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insomnia, M/M, Marriage, References to Depression, Sad and Happy, but it's a dream sorry, someone get Henry sleeping pills pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfGlitter/pseuds/GodOfGlitter
Summary: Three times Henry woke up in the middle of the night and the one time he didn’t.*Featuring Game of Thrones, support systems, and a whole lot of domesticity.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 178





	would you just- (lie here with me)

1.

When Alex wakes up, it’s 3 am, and he doesn’t quite know _why_ he’s awake. Surprisingly, he slept at a decently reasonable time last night- 11 pm- curled up around Henry like his life depended on it (it did) and warm under layers of blankets and love. _It’s probably just a dream or something_ he thinks, fully intending to go back to sleep, before burrowing further into the sheets and turning to reacquaint his body with-

_Oh._

_So that’s why I’m awake._

The bed next to him is empty, a fading warmth clinging to the sheets, letting Alex know that it hasn’t been that long since Henry’s been out of bed. He strains his ears, but he can’t hear any sounds coming from the rest of the house- although he’s pretty sure Henry is still at home- and wow, what a weird thought, huh? Home. With Henry.

It brings a smile to his face, and he revels in it for a few seconds before he heaves himself up, wrapping a blanket tightly around his shoulders sticking his feet into the cute dog shaped slippers Henry had gotten him as a gag gift that ended up being one of Alex’s favourite things to wear at home- those, and Henry’s worn sweaters. It’s a look.

Softy, he treads to the living room, and sure enough, there’s Henry- nestled into a corner of the sofa with an arm tucked under his chin, the other arm holding a thick book open. Once he moves closer, Alex sees that it’s _A Storm of Swords-_ and he has to physically stop himself from hugging Henry so tight they assimilate into one. He’d gotten him hooked on to the books after one too many pestering sessions- _just read them, Henry oh my gods they’re not as trashy as you think they are-_ and Henry will take any opportunity given to talk about how _Sansa needs to fucking stand up for herself,_ and something about this whole thing is so domestic and cute Alex just. Can’t.

“Have you reached the Red Wedding yet?” He says, because they’ve never done formalities and he doesn’t know how to say _are you okay_ while not making this a Big Thing.

“I haven’t, and you will shut up about it and tell me nothing” comes Henry’s reply, tinged with an apology- _I’m sorry I woke you up. I’m fine, I just couldn’t sleep._

God, Alex loves how they can talk like this- in words laced with thoughts only the two of them will ever be able to pick up. It makes for a great way to communicate with each other when they’re in public, being watched by hundreds of unwanted eyes with only the promise of _home, soon_ keeping them going.

“mmf” Alex says instead of all the love he wants to pour into words, before making his way onto the couch and forcing Henry’s hands apart so he can put his head on his lap. “You’re going to get a backache” Henry says, fond smile tugging on his lips as he cards his fingers though Alex’s hair. “Don’t care” Alex says, leaning into the touch like a shameless cat. With a slight chuckle, Henry picks his book back up, keeping his free arm slung slightly over Alex’s shoulders.

Alex is asleep before he turns the page.

2.

Out of all the versions of Henry- giggly Henry and competent as fuck Henry and shy, sweet Henry- Alex knows how to deal with Sad Henry the least. It’s mostly because he’s never let himself feel that way, choosing instead to push all of his problems under piles and piles of work until he forgets about them or crashes and burns- or, increasingly, until Henry drags him out and makes him face whatever is bothering him. He doesn’t know how it is, but Henry’s talked about it- how sometimes his chest feels like one giant chasm that he wishes he could claw out but he can’t, how there’s always a lump in his throat but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t cry, how his brain feels too large for his body, soaked and marinated in this _feeling_ that makes him think that nothing is right and nothing ever will be.

Alex has talked him through this sadness before, with soft reassurances that say _I’m here, you can talk to me_ and _come on, you can let your guard down._ They’ve spent entire nights curled up around each other, Henry letting words spill out of his mouth until his voice finally cracks and Alex can kiss away the tears from his cheeks, saying _I love you_ over and over with his lips until come morning, Henry’s smile is as bright as the sun again.

Sure, Henry likes to talk about it- but what Alex has realised is that more often than not, he doesn’t.

Like today- it’s a warm night, and Alex has just come back from a gruelling midterm cramming session at the library. He senses something is wrong the moment he opens the door, and it’s nothing physical- the living room lights are on as usual, and he can hear a small fan whirring away somewhere to the side- but there’s just something in the air that makes him take his shoes off extra quietly, makes him brace for _something_ the moment he walks into their room.

He finds Henry curled up on the bed, eyes open and unseeing even though they’re trained on the bedroom door. They focus on him for a second when he walks up, but Henry can’t manage anything more than a blink in acknowledgement and Alex feels his heart break just a little. He makes his way to him, stooping low to press a kiss to his forehead, before changing into his pyjamas quickly and getting in behind him. Carefully, Alex puts his arms around Henry- giving him the opportunity to move away, if he wants to- and pulls him close to his chest when he doesn’t, willing some of the love he’s feeling to travel through the space where his chest meets Henry’s back.

_It’s like my entire body is made of lead, and no part has the energy to move. I just want to- to lay there and be silent and ride it over till the worst of it is gone,_ Henry had said once, followed by a shy _it helps when you’re there. When you- you know, when you hold me and press kisses into my shoulder in that way that you do. It helps. Makes me realise there’s someone there for me._

Alex doesn’t know how to deal with Sad Henry. But he _can_ hold on tight to him like there’s no tomorrow, and he _can_ press kisses into his shoulders that brand _I love you_ into his skin.

So he does.

3.

Alex stumbles back into the brownstone to the sound of Henry’s quiet voice talking to someone in the phone, and even through his muddled brain he can tell that he’s stressed. He feels like he tries to be quiet, but he’s so very drunk that really nothing is affecting him right now, so what actually ends up happening is that he falls into a giggling heap by the coat rack, amused endlessly by the fact that he can’t take his own shoes off. He’s on the floor struggling with his coat when Henry appears, phone pressed to his ear and looking like he’s just walked through a hurricane. “Yeah, he’s home. I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks.” He says, before setting his phone down on a cabinet and scooting down to Alex’s level.

“Henryyyyyyyyyy you have such pretty eyes!! Do you think my eyes are pretty? I’ve always thought they’re a little dull, you know, brown and everything? But yours, yours are blue- like- like- you know what I’m talking about. Like the sky. Or something. Henry do you-“

“You should go to bed.” Interjects Henry quietly and seriously, and Alex doesn’t like that expression on his face at all. His mouth is drawn into an unhappy frown, and his eyebrows and furrowed so much Alex worries he’ll get permanent wrinkles. Now, Alex notices just how mussed up his hair is, like he’s been driving his hands through it again and again, and Alex can picture him pacing on the carpet doing exactly that, shoulders tense and mind racing a hundred miles and hour with possibilities and outcomes.

“What happened, baby?” Slurs Alex, bringing his hand to Henry’s cheek with more effort than should’ve been necessary and wow, he’s _really_ drunk. Except his hand never really reaches Henry’s face, because he flinches away from it as if the very thought of being touched by Alex revolts him, and the jolt of pain that goes through Alex at that flinch manages to penetrate through all his layers of alcohol and _hurt._

_“_ You should go to bed.” Repeats Henry, and this time Alex doesn’t say anything and allows him to lift him up in one swift motion. He leans heavily against Henry’s shoulder as they move to their bedroom, thinking dimly that _Henry took my shoes off_ and _the world is spinning_ and _he’s really mad at me._

He rambles his way through their living room, because he really hates how silent Henry is and the less Henry talks, the more he feels like _he_ has to to make up for the empty space in the room. By the time Henry deposits him on their bed, he’s feeling absolutely miserable, all the high from before gone, leaving him in a weird place where he wishes he were sober but he isn’t, so his brain still has no control over his body. Or itself, really.

“I love you.” He mumbles, burrowing into sheets and feeling sleep steal into his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to keep it away till they’ve sorted whatever this is out.

The last thing he feels is a light brush of Henry’s hand on his head, and then he’s out like a light.

*

The next morning is _terrible._

Alex wakes up with a headache and a roiling stomach, and proceeds to throw up violently in the trashcan kept- quite thoughtfully, he realises- by the bed stand. Throwing up just makes his headache worse, and Alex swears on his favourite colour coded binder never to drink _that much_ ever again. Next time, he’s going to get Henry to-

_Oh fuck._

It only takes him a second to remember flashes of last night, and all the hurt he’d been feeling comes back with a vengeance- except this time, it’s mixed with quite a lot of guilt. He knows exactly what he did wrong- he sent his security team home, went out drinking with friends from college, and proceeded to not text anyone about this because his phone died. _In my defence-_ he thinks, before letting the thought die out. He doesn’t really have a defence here. It’s his fault, through and through.

His guilt- and the memory of Henry’s disappointed face from last night-motivates him to do something about the situation, and with a herculean effort he manages to get himself out of bed and into the bathroom for a much needed shower. Half an hour later, he’s clean, his bedroom is clean, he’s taken the aspirin kept on the bed-stand (thoughtful, thoughtful Henry)- and he doesn’t think he can put off the _conversation_ anymore. With a deep breath, he walks out into the living room- and almost walks back in after what he sees.

Henry is sitting on the small table they’re fond of using for meals, laptop open but head in his hands, exuding such a strong aura of _tiredness_ that all Alex wants is to wrap him up in his arms and sing him to sleep. When Alex walks closer to him he looks up, and _oh,_ those are dark circles under his eyes, purple paper thin marks that let him know how he hasn’t slept all night- and suddenly, the guilt is a hundred times worse.

“I’m sorry” he blurts, hands itching to touch Henry’s cheeks and press apologies into his skin.

Nothing happens. Henry continues looking at him with this bland, slightly disappointed expression- and his eyes are just so _tired,_ like they’ve given up, like Alex isn’t worth talking to because Henry knows nothing will come out of it and-

“I’m really really sorry. I should’ve texted you- or Amy or someone- from a borrowed phone. It’s just that the plan changed so suddenly, and one moment we were just studying in the library and the next we were driving across town and then somehow I got very, very drunk. But that’s no excuse. There’s a hundred things I could’ve done better, and I’m _sorry,_ I swear this will never happen again. So just. Can you. Just. Say something?”

Deciding that Alex has said all he wanted to say- or, more likely, that Henry has heard all he wants to hear- Henry closes his laptop and pushes his chair away from the table, getting up and walking to his study- without a word or a backward glance towards Alex. The silent treatment sends a lump right down Alex’s throat, and he doesn’t remember ever feeling so wretched since the last time Henry had pointedly said nothing to him- and what a different and horrible time that was.

Ideally, he should leave Henry alone, let him get over his anger and come to Alex in his own time. But Alex has never been a patient man, so he ignores rationality and follows Henry into the study, determined to do whatever it takes to fix the situation. “Henry, love, please say something.” He pleads, hovering uncertainly at the doorframe and trying hard to pretend like his heart isn’t at the verge of falling apart right now. “Baby-“

“Don’t call me that.” Snaps Henry, and _he’s so angry,_ Alex can tell it in the way his fingers clench against the lip of the desk and the way his voice has this low, rough quality to it. “Do you know how worried I was yesterday? Alex _you sent your goddamn security team back home._ Do you know how _dumb_ that was of you? Amy never would’ve allowed it to happen- and _do you even know that Julio almost lost his job because of you?_ You said you’d be back by one. _Do you know what time you actually came home?_ Four AM! That’s three hours that _no one_ knew where you were, do you _realise_ how dangerous that is? You don’t keep your damn phone on, and you’re off gallivanting with god knows who- and I find all of this out through someone else’s _story?_ On _Instagram?_ I _know_ you’re more responsible than this Alex- _tell me you know you’re more responsible than this._ It isn’t even that difficult. All you had to do was send someone a text. It didn’t even have to be me. Just- god, Alex for those three hours when I didn’t know where you were I-“ Henry cuts off with a frustrated sigh, running hands through his hair again- and that’s all Alex can take.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” he whispers, walking up to Henry and folding himself onto his lap. Henry has to circle his arms around him to keep him from falling, and the simple act almost makes the tears in his eyes spill- but he stops himself. “I’m sorry. I will never do anything like this again. You can staple a power bank to my hands if you have to- or rescind my security team rights or whatever, just- God, Henry, I love you, and I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

For a minute, Henry doesn’t say anything, and Alex can feel himself holding his breath like a tiny exhale could shatter the peace that has begun to form precariously between them. Finally, _finally,_ Henry tightens his arms around Alex and draws him into a soft kiss- and that, not the anger or the hurt or anything- that makes the tears spill down his cheeks and the knot finally loosen in his chest.

“You’re an idiot.” Henry whispers, rueful smile on his lips and tired love in his eyes.

“I’m an idiot who loves you and doesn’t deserve you.” Alex corrects him, and the answering chuckle he receives is better than all the awards he’s gotten in his life.

“Oh, and also, your mother has called you to the White House tonight. For a special ‘information session’” says Henry, face finally breaking into an expression of mirth even as Alex’s stomach begins to fill with dread.

“You told her, didn’t you?” He says, glaring accusingly at Henry and wishing he could mean any of it- yet knowing that he’d take a hundred awful awkward presentations just so he could see Henry smiling at him again.

_Oh, he’s so fucked._

+1

In his dream, Henry is getting married.

Everything is beautiful, and secluded, and small but elegant- and that’s how he knows this isn’t real life. In the front row, he can see June pressing tears into Pez’s stiff shoulder pad (he’s wearing a dress, and he looks damn proud about it), and right next to her is Bea, smiling like the world’s been set right again. Nora seems to be having some sort of heated discussion with Philip, who’s trying very hard to not look at Pez and be scolded by Nora or his mother- again. His grandmother is nowhere to be seen. Good.

Suddenly, the trumpeters change their tune- it’s only then that Henry realises they’d been playing all this while- to start the opening refrains of the Star Wars theme as Alex starts walking down the aisle, and Henry _knows_ he’s dreaming but also this is perfect. Cheesy and tacky and perfect. It’s an eternity before Alex reaches him, an eternity he spends staring unabashedly at him and his impeccable suit and his flexing biceps through said suit. When he’s finally, _finally_ there, Henry takes Alex’s hands into his own, realising belatedly he should’ve probably waited for the officiant to say something.

Their vows are breathtaking. Henry cries halfway through his, which makes Alex cry, and then everyone is just barely holding in sobs and Henry doesn’t think he’s ever felt so _full_ on love before. He adores it. With one final statement, the priest pronounces them wed- and then Henry is kissing Alex like his life depends on it, drinking in his sunshine smile and letting it fill his insides with warmth that he knows will last him decades.

The last thing he remembers before he falls into an even deeper sleep is the feel of Alex’s lips against his skin.

*

“Look at how cute he looks, smiling like that in his sleep” gushes Nora, jumping off the couch and pulling out her phone to snap pictures that Alex knows will be his wallpapers by tomorrow. “Would you stop making all that noise? This is the first time this week he’s fallen asleep on his own, I don’t want him to wake up just because you’re being idiotic.” He says, letting her take one or two more pictures- for posterity, of course- before smacking her arm away and forcing her to come back to her side of the couch.

Absentmindedly, he runs his hands through Henry’s hair, positively _melting_ when Henry nudges himself closer to Alex’s side at the gesture. Smiling to himself, Alex bends down to press a quick kiss to his forehead, before turning to Nora and demanding that she put on a movie so that they can actually live up to the name “movie night”.

As he sneaks one last glance at Henry before the opening credits roll, Alex thinks-

_If all of this is a dream, let me never wake up again._

**Author's Note:**

> This was way shorter than I wanted it to be, but also I haven't written in so long so I guess something is better than nothing? Also it's 1:38 AM right now and I have no brain to finger (?) filter I am so sorry but also I hope you liked this please give it a kudos to save my crops thanks.
> 
> love,  
> N
> 
> (I'm going to regret this later aren't I)


End file.
